I was down in the Cat Cave, scanning the police band when I heard the report come over the radio. "Ugh!" I groaned "Looks like another long night."

"Going out sir?" It was Alfred. My talking catnip plant.

"Afraid so. Preston H. Steele, aka the Wahoo Bomber is back."

"Oh dear" said Alfred. "News like that shakes me to my leaves."

"Preston H. Steele was one of the area's leading industrialists. His company made explosives that blew up almost every known terrorist and wedding party crasher in countries that don't really matter to us" I said. " He was top of the social, financial and had the most friends on Facebook until a nasty divorce turned him in to the Wahoo Bomber. He targets women in his rage.

"Well be careful, sir. I shall leave your scratching post in the front room so you can clean your claws in the sunlight when you come home."

I jumped in to the Felincoln Mercury and headed in to the city. I knew His M. O. by Heart and I sang it as I drove. I reached the city and went directly to the Divorcee District. The richest section of the richest part of the city. I went directly to the Condo de la Tears de la Creep. It was a shining 26 story building full of rich divorced women. I thought I would have to do a room to room search of the place but I got lucky.

There was a bum in the street. At least I thought he was a bum. He cried out to me "He took her! My ex-wife! I was here delivering my thrice weekly alimony check when he grabbed her! I think they went up on the roof. I left him in the street and sprang in to action. So he wasn't a bum after all. Just a divorced guy. It's hard to tell them apart.

I flew up to the roof with my springy rope and bell ball. I caught him just in time. She had one of his bombs strapped across her repeatedly enhanced breasts and he was about to give her a push over the edge. He turned to me and yelled "You are too late, caped feline! This leech has sucked her last check!

"Let her go" I hissed. "She's done nothing to you! Fight me! I have claws!" I immediately fell on my back and clawed at him with all fours.

"Jebus, catman. You really take this too far" the Wahoo Bomber said.

Maybe I do but that's between me and my psychiatrists. But I had distracted him enough that he forgot about the woman who would never have to work another day in her life left alone suck any thing ever again. I pounced. I grabbed him by his collar and raked him with my powerful hind legs. He screamed "I give up catman. I surrender!"

"That's FelineMan" I hissed. 'Catman' is a wholly owned copyright of Fun Tyme Comics. Just another crime you're guilty of.

I secured the Wahoo Bomber by hitting on the head with a cinder block and putting him in a dry cleaner bag. Then I helped the rich chick take off her bomb and cupped some side boob.

"Thank you, FelineMan. Is there any way I can thank you?"

No. I want to keep both halves of my house, thank you very much." And with that, I was off. In retrospect, probably could have gotten clear to second base with her but I didn't want to risk it. Also, I should have told the police about the Wahoo Bomber and maybe cut some air holes. Oh well. One less trial.

And when I got back to Stately Calico Manor, Alfred, true to his word, had moved the scratching post in to the front room. I had a nice little scratch and a fight with the ball before falling asleep on the back of the couch.